Third Nightmare’s the Charm
by Amanda9
Summary: What happens when the Fred is left frustrated? The finale chapter of the FreddyAmanda saga.


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Title: _Third Nightmare's the Charm_

By: Amanda

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Feedback: sweety167@yahoo.ca

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Rating: R

Disclaimer: I own nothing but poor Amanda. 

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Summary: What happens when the Fred is left frustrated? The finale chapter of the Freddy/Amanda saga. 

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Author's Notes: If you don't know my stuff by now….run from here now! Get away while you still can!

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Completed: September 26, 2003

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Freddy paced around the boiler room, almost anxious. He knew it was only a matter of time. A matter of time before that wretched fan girl fell asleep and was back in his world. And then Freddy would finally have the last laugh. He just had to wait. He hated that. And his frustration was only growing with each passing night. Hell, with each passing minuet. 

That Bitch was gonna die!

He ran his clawed hand down a pipe just to hear the skin crawling screech fill his ears. It was going to be spectacular. And he would finally taste the libidinous release he was craving. Who ever said Fred never arched for anything?

Amanda used to think that staying awake was overrated, but now it was saving her life. She hadn't had a full night's rest since her last nocturnal run-in with the Dream Demon. It had taken her two dreams but she had finally learned something. She also had more scars to go from. Only it was becoming more and more difficult to stay awake no matter how close her relationship with coffee was. What she really wanted was to get to know her bed again. 

The girl, who would never see her twenty-first birthday, was fighting a loosing battle against pure exhaustion. Not to mention the Dream Demon that awaited her. Armed with a super-sized coffee, and not much else, Amanda attempted to fend off another night's sleep. But it was hard enough staying alive during the day. 

Her head bobbed forward, but shot back up – fighting the inviting pull. If only she had fought once more…but instead her head bobbed forward again and she slipped into sleep.

When she lifted her head again she was no longer in her room. She was no longer safe. Falling asleep had again placed her into the hot stench of the boiler room. She was now in his room. 

Needless to say, Amanda was scared. She had only just survived the last time she played with the Springwood Slasher. The gashes from her last encounter had only begun to heal, but now they burned and twitched under their gauze. Although he, the manic killer, was not seen he was around. Close. Watching. Her wounds warned her – some dreamscape version of Spidey-Sense or Potter-intuition of the forth-coming danger. 

Learning not to waste time the dreamer began a frantic run for cover. A naïve idea of stalling time until she woke up. The girl found herself cowering behind a large, inactive boiler-stove, waiting. Silently praying, to whoever was listening, for her safety. 

A sharp screech split the ominous hum of the concrete room, and the mental monster sprung to life. A rumbling hiss and pop sounded off. The cold steel began to glow hot with an inner flame. The fire was lit. 

Startled the girl jumped back, out into the open. 

"No more hide-and-seek," a low, gritty snarl announced, followed by a characteristic laugh. 

The form they belonged to stepped out of the shadows from a cloud of hissing steam. A most dramatic entrance for their final act. 

Amanda felt cornered, since in fact she was. Backing up would mean walking into a raging fire, and both sides were covered by a web of iron pipes. She was trapped. She was caught.

He fanned his damned blades in her face, clinking the metal tips against each other – like scissors snipping wildly. 

"Why can't you just let me go?" she asked with wide, innocent eyes.

Fred growled at the dreamer, "Why can't you just die?!" In an instant he was an inch from her face, but snapped back as if regaining self-control. One game was over, but one needed to continue. There was so much more to do with her. 

"Please?" she pleaded: for escape, for safety, for life. Biting at her scarred lip, nervously pondering what she could do now, where she could go.

The pathetic plea fell on dead ears – all puns intended. A menacing smile crossed his face. He shook his head, stepping closer to her, "You've already survived two times too many." He stroked her head again, this time the hand most man caressed her hair. 

She whimpered like a small, lost child. A sound that thrilled him. 

"You know, you're a little old for me…" he stroked her cheek, reading her mind. 

The girl always had a conflict of twisted sexual images running through her head – a desperate attempt to maintain the social constructed morals and not get turned on by the animated corpse. She was quickly becoming a perfect candidate for a Freudian analysis. And if, or when, Freddy got his way she would soon be meeting the man himself.

Freddy chuckled, spotting that corrupted glint in her eyes. Leaning in, he spoke in the hot, gritty voice into her ear, "…but I'll make an exception for you, you dirty bitch!" He spat, pushing her against the bricked wall. 

Amanda's head made sharp contact with the solid wall – a thud that echoed through her whole body, a dull ache along her spine. Stunning the girl. 

In a snap she was in full costume for his final show. A fresh, white cotton nightie hung loosely from her frame and little red ribbons were tied in her hair – an illusion of childhood. The child killer eyed her up with a new hunger in his cold eyes. A feral lust to devour and destroy the flesh in front of him. 

And like a scared child, the dreaming girl began to cry. Hot, desperate tears started running down her marred face. 

He closed the space between them. "Perk up bitch, you'll die happy," his raspy voice promised, filling her ears just before his snaked tongue filled her mouth. The lewd creature forced its way past her lips and flickered into her throat. She could only gasp to accommodate him: the twisting, slippery beast.

His hands, both clawed and scarred alike, began a twisted assault on her cotton-clad body. Marking out what was now his. What was now there for his amusements. 

Her lungs contracted tightly from the lack of oxygen and her hands clawing at the colour-blind sweater – whether it was defensive or encouraging it wasn't clear. Nothing was clear to her, her feelings were all mixed – excitation, disgust and fear. She wasn't even sure which one was leading. 

The Night Stalker started scratching and groping at his little girl. He thrived on the corruption of innocence, twisting their sweet features to his sick pleasures. The slick blades sliced into the soft flesh as Freddy attempted to pull her body closer to his taunt frame – deepening the deadly kiss. Blood smeared as the scarred hand crawled along untouchable areas already marked with fresh red lines. If possible she would have defended against the assault, if her sense weren't bombarded and her mind swimming. She felt every white hot, metal kiss across her skin. The last things she would feel. 

The claw dragged down her shoulder and dug into her soft breast. But the wicked weapon didn't stop. It forced its way through tender tissue and bloody flesh to the beating organ. The flickering blades ate at the living, red muscle – slicing into it like a carnivorous dog. With a quick thrust the hand broke through her back, reached up and pulled back her head in a mass of curls.

In a gurgled moan from her exposed throat, the girl's eyes rolled back in her head. Her body spasmed as a warm white light covered her – death. 

Freddy let go of the mass of dreamer's hair that was clenched in his fist and his eyes slowly closed. The thick, blood slicked tongue slid out of her, retracting back into its cavernous home. 

The carcass slumped against the wall, limp and lifeless. 

He pulled his arm from the meaty hole left in her chest; bits of gore staining the old sweater as the claw was freed from the wet slop. 

Amanda's body collapsed to the floor at his feet, like an old, used doll. Never to be picked up and played with again. It was a lifeless relic left from the night's playtime.

The Killer's eyes opened again, the usual fierceness was milky and hazed with satisfaction. He stared down at the girl. The dark tongue ran across the thin lips: his prey caught, his hunger fed, his urge fulfilled.

Cocking his head to the side he admired the mess he created from the once living creature. He kicked the limp form, the twisted smile returned to his face.

"Finally, a fan girl served a purpose," he laughed, strolling off into the shadows. 

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~END~

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